Ninety Days without My Master

I. 90 Days Without My Master

Nearly a year and one half into my journey, a line was drawn, without warning. It has been more than 90 days since I entertained my One at private levels. A severing of joint things enjoyed, and needed. I have seen Him, publicly, spoken professionally and casually, yes. Almost daily. And, for that, I am ever grateful. But, with those surface interactions comes the piercing realization that I am, lately, quite incomplete.

There were cautions given, in the beginning. Promised tests, to which I readily agreed. Boundaries and expectations were explained, early on, though I toe-tested now and then, as we grew more casually attuned to one another. My right to warm his side, or tickle His fancy, if called, is more understood, today, than ever before.

Oh, how I pleaded to become His slave! After only a few encounters. How He tried, then, to dissuade me! He said that I'd no clue how deep the rabbit hole goes. My eager persistence allowed that He kindly enjoyed, trusted and agreed to accept me, instead. I eventually became His Own, with His giving of a private Celtic name. I was then, and still am, so very honored.

We pushed the envelopes of pleasure and desire, countless times, during that year and a half. Lovely, naughty things one only reads about were becoming my every need. A settled sort of regularity became most comfortable. Even housekeeping or doing His laundry became my hopeful rewards. I dare say there is little finer than watching Him enjoy grilled cheese and salami sandwiches, with spicy sausage soup, on cold, rainy nights, save for His voice, whispering so evenly in my ear, telling me to "scream it" once dinner was done.

After a time, even His whispers were no longer needed to prompt His due expectations, though I will always enjoy and respond to His voice. His casual, steady gaze communicated more than I think he initially intended, and I felt his thoughts, often before He could speak them. I began to read Him, like a book, particularly when he nestled against my backside, afterward, and spoke unguarded, in every way. Perhaps that is what changed things. He possibly enjoyed "growing me" more so than the evidence of my endless perceptions to inhale and respond to whatever He may bid. He became my air, and breathing is involuntary. Does that, in itself, somehow imbalance the scale regarding Dominance and submission?

Then...bang. It happened, like a shot to the heart. His personal mysteries unfolded, all about me, with a sudden and unexpected distancing of the things we had shared. His sudden silence nearly choked the very life from me. Though He knew I would fend His every challenge, he worked me, 90 days, to earn very few alliances. Still, I am so very thankful. I continue to caress every pointed facet that is Him.

I oft stood, motionless, momentarily seeing Him in my day to day routine. Day in and day out! 90 days is such a long time! I comforted myself by hoping, "Maybe He will speak, this time, and say that there has been some terrible misunderstanding." I watched as my One's countenance transformed from slight acknowledgement, to expressionless, and then to a darkness I could not define. The Voice that I strained to hear spoke very few words, if any at all. Sometimes, for days at a time. I held my breath as he strode past me, publicly, as though I were beige wallpaper. Could He not see my chest rising and falling as I sucked devotion versus pride, deeper, and deeper, inside? Oh, so very much like stone, my Master! I swallowed my silent pleadings, each time He pretended not to see me. The calendar on my wall bore the timestamp of The Last Visit in August. I hadn't the heart to turn the page; hoped childishly, that He would soon send for me, and that time had kindly stood still.

It is His Mastery that has always caused my blood to rush, and lent unequalled iridescence to my aura. I still manifest inside Him, with tiny, randomly unannounced, pearly irritations. That is the only thing that I am allowed to do, by design, without permission. His defiant shell clamps tightly, and I am delightfully trapped, inside. He feels and houses me. I continue to breathe, and grow, inside Him.

From time to time, I lately dream the same wild dream. It wakes me with its hidden message. Master and I, climbing an endless, spiral staircase. The closest of friends, exploring every turn. I see myself stumble, and look upward to capture one last glimpse of His magnificent shadow as He ascends, unshaken. He leaves me, fallen, upon the stairs. He looks back, only once. He somberly says, "You're a big girl, now..."

I am still evaluating the dream. Yet, I have reached the next landing, all by myself these 90 days later. The best part of getting back up, and continuing to climb, is respecting that He is "up there," exquisitely smug. In my dream, He extends a much needed, and familiar, strong and congratulatory hand. I have learned that He will not carry me when I fall due to careless regard of the things He intended for me, yet He has certain, expected and vested interests in my achievements

After all, it was in the beginning when He kindly queried and said, "Are you sure? I have so much to put you through!" And, it was Day One when I was certain He would never invest His time, or care, in things that are destined to fail. That, in itself, is aplenty.

II. Michito's 90 Days

There is much to be learned from a fish. Michito, my lovely Koi, was purchased when he measured less than one inch, soaking wet. I fully expected to derive great pleasure in watching him grow, yet at that time, did not correlate the natural to my supposed, unlike-any-other, private and personal growths. Michito grew, and performed, tireless, aquabatic ballets for my singular pleasure. I watched, enchanted for a time, yet as he grew stronger and larger, only casually stuck my finger into his tank, just to make sure that he realized the hand of his owner. Michito never faltered, even when I ignored him, for days. Other than feeding him, I gave him few of the earned attentions to which he'd grown accustomed. Even now, if I but tap the glass, he rises to greet me, yet has recently begun to look at me with unblinking fish eyes as if to say, "Yes, I am still here, where you left me. Shall I entertain you or are you only here to turn out the light?"

It is probably not by coincidence that 90 Days Without My Master played into my treatment of Michito. It is with new appreciation that I respect Michito for continuing to perform his fish routine, regardless of my presence. When I looked 'round, he'd grown to a fat and shimmering seven and one half inches. The marbled colors he wears are so very vibrant. All who see him say, "That is quite a fish!" He still smiles, with bubbles of delight, if I but take the time to notice. I would hazard, here, that this is merely his genuine need to be the most pleasing fish he can be.

Though my Master's 90 Day hiatus has thankfully ended, and He has returned as my best friend and lover, I recognize my gross, unfair exchange with Michito. I will no longer withhold appreciation for all that he could become. The fine line 'twixt Animal Behavior vice Human Reasoning sounds the drum. Though I would enjoy keeping Michito forever, I will, instead, reward him, through freedom. I will release him to a large, indoor pond in a place that is special to me. Because Michito cannot speak, I must choose for him. I think it best to allow others to become enthralled with his unique ballets as he continues to grow, unhampered by his small, familiar tank. I will visit him often. It is a given that he will continue to rise to my hand for a long time to come.

We share a vein, Michito and I. It is quiet strength, and resilience above the odds, that proves submission at its sweetest core. That said, I remain, quite content, with my shield to the world, and my desires in my pocket. I shall never want, nor ask, for freedom. I shall only ask to be kept! We have never needed a Safe Word, My One and I. He has always known what my emotions and body can withstand. May He please continue to exercise His every Right.

Adoration for your lessons, Master S!

Always, Your Brigid -- 11-24-07